


When In Doubt, Blame Spider-Man

by ambivalentangst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Based on Characters From Other Spider-Man Adaptations, Gen, Let Tony Stark Sleep, Peter Parker and Children, Toaster Thievery, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 06:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17555480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivalentangst/pseuds/ambivalentangst
Summary: Hi! Sorry about the toaster—Spidey emergency. Pinky promise I’ll get you a new one. On that note, how much pull do you have in New York’s group homes? Asking for a friend.In the way of a signature, the kid had put a smiley face with poorly sketched webbing covering it. Tony thought about calling to ask, but frankly, he’d been up for the better part of forty-eight hours. He cared more about sleep than what the hell Peter had been up to that required the thieving of kitchen appliances.





	When In Doubt, Blame Spider-Man

**Author's Note:**

> yet another WIP that I finally fine tuned enough to post. Enjoy.
> 
> If you want to come yell at me about stuff I have a Marvel-only blog that can be found [here!](https://ambivalentmarvel.tumblr.com) I hope you like the fic!

John Jonah Jameson sat on the front steps of the home and stared hard at the concrete that composed them. His tears were hot in his eyes, hands grubby when they tried to rub the tracks they made away. He hated it there. He hated the bleach-and-cheap-candle smell constantly hanging in the air, and he hated the way the blankets scratched his face when he curled up under them at night. Most of all, he hated the lead, who insisted on calling him John Jonah. John Jonah Jameson—Jay, as he preferred to be called—knew as much as anyone how ridiculous his full name sounded. It was why he shortened it, just not all the way down to the letter J. 

(Jay liked birds. He liked watching them fly and wanted to do the same. Blue also happened to be his favorite color. It worked out.)  
  
Every time her thin, lipsticked lips drew out a title he didn’t ever answer to, he hated the home a little bit more. Even though Jay had no memory of the parents who’d drop-kicked him into the foster system at the ripe old age of eighteen months, he’s always supposed that with being with them must have been at least a little better.  
  
Jay went to kick at a rock. He missed, stubbed his toe, and the rock stayed still. He pinched his lips together. Stupid rock, stupid home, stupid him.  
  
He really didn’t even know where Spider-Man had come from.

The lead—Melissa—had been yelling at him again. Something was broken. (Most things in the home were broken, anyway, so Jay didn’t get why it was a big deal.) This time, it happened to be the toaster. She wanted answers, had her hands scrunched down on her hips and that nasty glint in her eye that suggested she would be especially unpleasant should a newspaper or magazine appear in her hands. She’d been shouting— _screaming_ —at him for the better part of thirty minutes, demanding to know what he’d been doing, what he’d been thinking.

_“Don’t you know, John Jonah, how hard we work here to keep you and the other children comfortable? How do you think they feel about this? Answer me, John Jonah!”_

Her lipstick was smeared on her teeth, spittle flying as she stared him down. Jay had kept his gaze locked on the floor, hands tucked into the pocket of his ratty hoodie. He knew exactly how the _other children_ felt. They were snickering at him from behind the banister, the kid who got mad too easily and never got away with the punches he was liable to throw at a moment’s notice. He had a pretty good guess for who did it, but he wasn’t a snitch, even if Cole was a jerk.

He had shrugged, not meeting Melissa’s eyes. “It wasn’t me, ma’am.”

Everyone called Melissa ma’am. She was handy with that newspaper, after all. The dull thump of it on the backs of their necks wasn’t enough to bruise, but it hurt every time.

Melissa’s red, shiny lips curled into a sneer. “Oh?” she’d condescended. “Then _enlighten_ me, John Jonah. Who did?”

And Jay couldn’t explain _why_ he said it. Maybe it was her bloody, furious mouth, the same shade as his suit. Maybe it was a glimpse of the cobwebs crisscrossing the ceiling corner. Maybe it that was that Jay never had a scapegoat and, for once, didn’t want to take the blame because shoving it off on someone else would just turn into another strike on his record.

He stared her in the eyes and said, deadpan, “Spider-Man, ma’am.”

Jay was pretty sure that if she wouldn’t have gone to jail for doing so, she would’ve strangled him then and there. Instead, she sent him outside heedless of the chill needling at his skin. Jay could be stupid sometimes, but he wasn’t dumb enough to risk asking to come back in just yet. Thus, there on the steps he sat.

In the nearby alley, cats squabbled, their yowls and hisses clear as day. It was only nine in the morning on a Saturday, one of Jay’s few days off from school.

(Jay hated school because it was hard, the letters and numbers swimming in front of his eyes. For that matter, he hated being called stupid, even if deep down he thought whoever was doing the calling was right.)

If Jay wasn’t so mad, he might’ve been impressed with himself for stumbling into trouble at record-breaking speed. Jay did consistently draw the short straw in life, but he even he wasn’t above admitting that occasionally he sought out and then clenched the straw in a white-knuckled grip.

It had been an absurd answer, and the angry flush to Melissa’s cheeks following it obviously thought so too. She liked when things were in their places. Jay persistently refused to be placed anywhere, which never failed to irritate her.

He’d heard of Spider-Man on the news, actually enjoyed helping out with dinner when he was featured on the T.V. despite the lines running through the screen of the outdated model. He liked him a lot, and whenever he’d been out the night previous, Jay felt a lot safer walking to school. When he said his name, he didn’t mean anything. Spider-Man was untouchable, after all, by criminals and even the rare policeman who complained about his vigilantism as he swung from building to building. Jay envied that.

“You’re an idiot,” he murmured to himself, toe still throbbing as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Jesus Christ.” His head snapped up, eyes smarting with anger and tears. “Spider-Man. Who says that? An idiot, that’s who.”

Jay, in all fairness, was really only talking to himself. For someone who got as angry as he did whenever he faced the consequences of his actions, he did a very poor job keeping himself from doing anything to make things worse. Occasionally, he tried to berate himself to make the lesson stick.

Then, a voice from above. “Hey, man. I think he’s a pretty cool guy, but that’s just me.”

Jay startled, falling down a step as his head searched for the source of the sound. His eyes landed on a shape a few stories up on a man crouched on the side of a building. His voice caught in his throat. Jay talked a lot, but it wasn’t all that hard to shut him up. “Woah,” he breathed, staring at the masked figure as he prowled down the wall he was perched on like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It occurred to Jay that Spider-Man had heard him talking smack and had responded, to boot.

_Oh my god_ , he thought. _I’m about to get beat up by an actual superhero before noon._

Part of Jay was really, really scared. The other part was trying to process that anybody other than Melissa or an underpaid counselor was giving him any sort of attention. He stumbled back, debating which side of the door was better for him to be on.

Jay had never _heard_ about Spider-Man beating up a ten-year-old before, but there were first times for everything. Most ten-year-olds probably didn’t give people who could lift buses crap. Jay was special that way.

Much to his surprise, Spider-Man held up his hands placatingly. “Woah, woah. I’m not gonna’ hurt you, buddy. You’re entitled to your own opinion and all that. I was just gonna’ see what else you have to say about me.”

Jay froze, hand poised to rap at the backdoor, ready to beg to be let back inside. “You’re not gonna,’ like, punch me?”

Spider-Man made an ugly sound under his breath that took Jay a second to place as a snort of laughter. “Nah,’ man. We’re cool! Or at least, I’m cool with you. You—well, you’re kinda’ mean. What have I ever done to you?”

Assumptions, labels. Jay was used to those. Almost instantly he locked himself down, hands balling into fists while the wind bit at his nose. “You broke the toaster,” he spat with what some might consider an unfair amount of venom, considering Spider-Man hadn’t really done anything wrong.

The white lenses of Spider-Man’s eyes blinked very slowly at Jay. “What?”

Jay settled back on the stairs, the concrete cold through the fabric of his off-brand of an off-brand pants. His words came out in a grumble, teeth gritted and tears burgeoning in his eyes again.

He _hated_ crying and hated crying in front of other people even more.

“You didn’t break it, not really.”

Spider-Man appeared relieved.

“I just told Melissa that you did ‘cause I didn’t wanna’ take the fall again.”

Spider-Man shifted on his feet, head tilted far to one side. “Oh.” A pause—confused, but not necessarily judgemental. “Okay. Cool. I was, like, kinda’ worried because I didn’t _remember_ breaking any toasters, but sometimes shi— _stuff_ happens. Can I sit?” One hand, just as bright and webbed as the rest of him, motioned to the empty space next to Jay.

He thought about saying no. Jay was good at being angry, pushing anyone who dared to care about him away. Anger was easy, but Jay was still processing that Spider-Man was _right there_ and was _asking_ Jay for permission to do something as simple as taking up space he hadn’t been before. That was really the only reason he scooted to the side and made room.

(Jay would never ever, not in a million kajillion years, admit that maybe it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t act like he was nothing but a lost cause.)

Spider-Man sat. He managed to stay still for a little before he began to rock, and when that failed to sate him, tap his feet. At last, he popped a question. “Who’s Melissa?” At Jay’s scowl, he held up his hands defensively. “Woah, woah, woah. Just asking. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wanna’.”

Jay made another attempt at kicking a rock before he ducked his head, the cloud covering his face stubbornly remaining put. “She runs the home,” he mumbled. Spider-Man gave pause, looking at the building behind them before it occurred to him what Jay was talking about. He might’ve said something had Jay not barrelled on ahead, continuing to explain. “And she kinda’ hates me, but I swear I didn’t do it. I could’ve, but I didn’t. Cole is _so_ lucky I haven’t said anything, you know. It’s not like she’d believe me, but he’s only got a couple strikes left before they send him somewhere else.”

Jay paused, stewing on the anger slowly giving way to exhaustion. At that moment, Spider-Man struck. “Kid, you know there are people you can tell about this sort of thing? People who can actually do something about Melissa.”

Jay shook his head. “It’s better to just keep quiet and stay out of her way. A new lead is always more trouble than it’s worth.”

Spider-Man didn’t look placated. “Melissa isn’t allowed to put kids outside for hours on end in the middle of winter.”

Jay shrugged, suppressing a shiver. “I have a coat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Spider-Man, aside from the narrowing of his eyes, wasn’t physically able to show all that much emotion through his mask. Even so, his disapproval was palpable. No, not disapproval, concern. Someone was worried _for_ Jay, and wasn’t that just an experience? He stood, dusting off his suit.

Jay followed his lead, brows furrowing. Spider-Man was worried, right?

“I gotta’ visit a friend, but I’ll be back, promise. You gonna’ be okay until then, kid?”

Jay felt his heart snag painfully. It shouldn’t, really, he knew. Spider-Man had lots of things to do, people to see, as one of his teachers liked to say. They hadn’t even been talking that long, but it was nice to have someone hear him out and be on his side.

His face hardened a little, head dipping in a nod. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Normally, that’d be the point Jay would turn away or shout something that landed a literal bar of soap in his mouth. Instead, he stuck his hands—cold, a little numb—into the pockets of his jacket and snuck a glance at Spider-Man out of the corner of his eye. “It’s Jay, you know. Not kid.”

Jay couldn’t see Spider-Man’s face, but something in the pit of his stomach warmed as he got the impression that Spider-Man was smiling.

Spider-Man stood poised to leap, but he paused long enough to tell him “I’ll see you in a second, Jay.”

He swung away, and more than warmth, Jay felt smug. Take _that_ , Melissa. She could be as much of a witch as she wanted, but at the end of the day, Spider-Man didn’t go around calling him the wrong name.

As much as vindication pleased him, Jay had to admit it did little to fight the cold. He’d told Spider-Man that it was fine, and for the most part, it was. Nobody had ever gotten hurt from a little cold, or at least, nobody at the home.

He plopped back down and listened to the cats again. He didn’t feel like crying anymore, but he was still pretty pissed. He stayed that way for about a half hour before the back door miraculously opened to reveal Melissa.

She looked a little frantic, reaching forward to grab Jay by his wrist and strongarm him back inside without explanation.

Jay went to jerk away from her grip and ask her what she thought she was doing with him, but Melissa cut in first. “Right here! Just playing outside. The door must have closed without anybody noticing.”

Jay blinked in surprise. There was Spider-Man, a massive pack of Eggo frozen waffles and a toaster held under his arms, standing in the front entry of the home.

His eyes narrowed a fraction, but the whir his suit made at the sound made sure it was noticeable. “That’s good. I was worried. Looked like he’d been out there a while, but that’s not totally why I’m here.” He nodded towards his cargo. “I—uh—compromised your toaster last night. Figured I should clear that up. Part of the job—sorry. Can I set these down somewhere?”

Melissa nodded dumbly, her face blank with shock. “Oh, yes, of course. The kitchen’s this way.” She stepped aside to allow Spider-Man to pass, but the minute his back was turned, she shot Jay a look that could kill.

He shrugged, fighting to keep a smile from his face. Still, he couldn’t let the matter fall without comment. A word occurred to him, one that his teacher had described in the book they were reading as a class. Words that needed commentary didn’t often make sense to Jay, but he was pretty sure of how to make it work just for the occasion. “It’s like I told you, ma’am. He’s a menace.”

Her face made every second spent buddying up to the chill worth it.

(Vindication felt even better when it came, a few short weeks later, with Melissa being fired.)

* * *

Halfway across the city, a poptart fell from Tony Stark’s sleep deprived hand and onto the counter before he realized its destination was missing.

He stared, processed, and turned his attention to the sticky note plastered onto the backsplash of his penthouse’s kitchen.

_Hi! Sorry about the toaster—Spidey emergency. Pinky promise I’ll get you a new one. On that note, how much pull do you have in New York’s group homes? Asking for a friend._

In the way of a signature, the kid had put a smiley face with poorly sketched webbing covering it. Tony thought about calling to ask, but frankly, he’d been up for the better part of forty-eight hours. He cared more about sleep than what the hell Peter had been up to that required the thieving of kitchen appliances.

Tony shoved the pop tart into his mouth cold, slapped the note to his forehead so he wouldn’t forget about it later, and called it a day.


End file.
